


Essential

by Azar



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-30
Updated: 2011-11-30
Packaged: 2017-10-26 17:09:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/285804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azar/pseuds/Azar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A morning ritual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Essential

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Couple of Head Cases](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/5640) by Anne Hedonia. 



> Thanks to Anne Hedonia and Langleigh for easing my fears about this back when I wrote it. I'd never written anything like it before and wasn't sure I could write it. Also thanks to Anne for her warm and funny story "A Couple of Head Cases"--that story and this one have just about nothing in common, but nevertheless there's a little tribute to it towards the end.

The alarm started the process of waking him, but it was the familiar slap-thud of her hand silencing it that brought him to full awareness. Rolling over, he sat up and let his half-awake eyes fall on the form beside him. Monica was sprawled prone on her stomach, the fingers of one hand still splayed across the now-chastised alarm.

He smiled, tracing the line of her closer shoulder with a languid hand. "C'mon, lazybones. Time to wake up."

She shifted, murmuring grumpily, but made no move to shake off the sleep that still clung to her.

Still smiling, he forced his voice to turn stern and commanding. "Agent Reyes, may I remind you that you have a responsibility--"

She grunted, managing to slur out: "John can live without me for an hour or two."

He suppressed a laugh. "Maybe, but I might have a hard time explaining my apparent collusion with your tardiness."

Her answering silence suggested that she was sure he'd think of something.

Apparently, drastic measures were called for. Leaning over the half-sleeping form of his bedmate, he fumbled with the objects on the bedside table. Finally he grasped a small bottle of dark, amber-colored plastic. Uncapping it, he tapped the bottle against his palm until a white glob appeared in it. His smile broadened as he breathed in the tangy scent--ginger and orange.

Aromatherapy was something he'd heard about, but never given any credence to before she came into his life. Even the first few times they'd performed these little rituals, it was more of an indulgence of her endearing eccentricity on his part. Until he started noticing that it seemed to work...

He smiled. She'd brought a myriad of rituals into his life, but this still remained one of his favorites.

Setting the bottle aside, he rubbed his hands together and reached for her again. First the pulse points--one hand lightly brushed her hair aside while the other tenderly but firmly began to rub the lotion into the soft skin of her neck.

The object of his ministrations moaned weakly, a sound of both pleasure and reluctant protest.

Next he reached for the arm nearest him, taking her hand between his and gently coating the flesh of her wrist. He knew he should move next to the other wrist, but decided to improvise in the interest of subtlety. Pausing only to replenish the supply of lotion in his hands, he attacked the rest of her arm.

Monica wriggled a little in half-hearted objection.

"Oh no," He growled affectionately. "You're not getting away that easily."

Still pinning the extended arm to the mattress, he shifted under the covers until he was straddling her waist from behind. Reaching for the bottle, he poured a little more into his open palm.

Strong but gentle hands traced the line of her shoulders, caressing the oil slowly downward in long, circular strokes. They circled her waist, lifting her gently from the mattress as he smoothed the lotion over every inch of her belly that he could reach. Fingertips brushed the underside of her breasts, causing him to fight for both breath and control. Then his hands moved down to--and under--the lace hem of her panties.

That seemed to be the winning stroke. She writhed, twisting under him so that she faced him, not the pillow. "I'm awake, I'm awake."

Satisfied, even though he had succeeded in arousing himself as much as her, he moved as if to shift off her. Firm, long-fingered hands clamped down on his shoulders.

"Not so fast, Mister. Come back here and finish what you started."

It was the little things like this which made his life with her so different from his life as a bachelor, as Sharon's husband, or as a divorcee. These little things that made her as essential to him as any oil.

As had also become ritual, despite their best intentions, they were still late.


End file.
